


With Tenderness

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alex is a marshmallow, Alternate Canon, Collarbone worship?, He's also maybe a perv, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaguely ill Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Charles faints from a mild case of heat stroke (Or Raven's cooking depending on who you ask) and wakes up  in a room that isn't his and strangely enough - an Alexander Summers waiting worriedly at his bedside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this [prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/6192.html?thread=8637488#t8637488) from the kink meme
> 
> In which the OP asked for a sick!Charles being taken care of by Havok.
> 
> I can't really explain why this pairing appeals to me so much, but I seriously can't get enough of them. Probably my younger!top and older!bottom kink at work, that and I mean come on! Ex-convict and Nerdy Professor?
> 
> ALL OF MY BUTTONS. RIGHT THERE.

\--

Light, Charles muses, is a terrible inconvenience when it comes to waking.

Though if he's being completely honest the ground shattering, mind numbing laces of pain ricocheting in his skull could also be held accountable for his current discomfort. But regardless, the sunlight filtering from what Charles can only assume is a near by window is doing nothing to soothe his already blistering migraine.

He hasn't opened his eyes yet, won't dare to either, isn't going to add seared retinas to the growing list of his misfortunes, he'd learnt that one the hard way after a wild night out in Oxford during his college days. Mysteriously waking up in the Botanic Gardens mid afternoon, hungover as all hell, sun shinning merrily upon his face had been a less than pleasant experience.

His eyes for one, had barely recovered, his dignity however (rolling around in the grass, hands scrabbling at his face while still wearing yesterday's alcohol scented clothes as mothers lead their various children not so discreetly in the other direction)... never really had.

He starts to pilfer through memories, anything at all that could help identifying why there is a grand canyon where his head should be.  
He had only shared a finger or two of scotch last night over a chess match with Erik, nothing near the quantity it would take to cause a headache of such severity. In fact, he already remembered waking up once before today (yesterday?), recalls Raven's horrid attempt at breakfast (even Sean who'll eat furring strawberries as demonstrated not a week before had grimaced around his forkful of eggs), and then afterwards he had begun to see to the children's training.

And then that's it. His memories end at training.

He goes back, rewinds, reevaluates and starts from there. He had been outside with Hank, running, trying to build up the boy's confidences, not just in his abilities but his self perceptions as well. But it had been hot outside, unexpectedly so, and spells of dizziness had become more frequent, disorientating in it's very nature and before he had known it nausea had reared it's ugly head, his legs faltering beneath hi-

Oh dear god. He had fainted, he'd honest to god, bloody well fainted like the stereotypical soft Englishman Erik has always teased him of being.

"Yeah, it was kind of spectacular."

Startled, would not be the term Charles would use, but that's not to say that wasn't what he was. Telepaths aren't used to being snuck upon, to find themselves in a situation in which they could suddenly be considered _not alone_ without whistle of warning or awareness was rare at best. How the hell had he not noticed Alex at his bedside?

The sudden wet chill of a washcloth makes him flinch unexpectedly as it made contact with his forehead, the initial touch painful in it's stark contrast with heated flesh of his skin before settling as something a great deal more soothing. Preoccupied as he was with the throbbing of his temple he had barely registered just how fevered his body felt, his skin practically pulsating with heat, the unfamiliar bed he lay on stifling even though no blankets covered him. The coolness of the cloth felt remarkable against his overly warm flesh (not to mention the heaven splitting migraine he was still sporting) and couldn't help but lean into the hands that were lightly, but firmly, smoothing the material down; momentarily allowing himself to bask in the attention shown with a small hum of appreciation. Alex's hands stilled from where they pawed at the cloth for a few seconds, hung frozen until they shakily withdrew and Charles had to clamp down on the urge to chase those hands until they were back on his person, seeking the comfort they had so generously been lavishing upon him.

He heard Alex make a little whining sound in the back of his throat. "You're," a cough, "you're still projecting Professor."

Well.

Gingerly (very, very gingerly) Charles opens his mind beneath the heavy throbbing and curses himself as he quickly assesses the stores of his power to discover the sheer mass of it's tendrils branching out and just _touching_. Withholding an exasperated sigh, he slowly calls them back, a spool reeling in (grimacing when he plucks out a couple of threads fusing themselves to Raven who indulging in some cardio work on the other side of the manor), ignores the feelings of panic and distress that accompanies keeping his ability in full lock down, struggling more so than usual as instinct wars with his sense of propriety.

Caging his power, smothering it, goes against his innate nature; but he is practiced in it's suppression. Still, factoring in the mind numbing migraine... well, the act being discomforting would be putting it mildly.

He can still read emotions though, one aspect he's never been able to control, and Alex's worries are rolling and toiling, a sea of shuddering waves with the intent to consume. Charles is hit with a sudden frightening urge to see his expression.

"Could you close the curtains please Alex?" His voice felt scratchy in his throat, dry from sleep and most likely an edge of dehydration. He hears the telltale sign of a body rising from a chair, feels it as the other boy (Man?) makes his way across the room, Charles' mind tracking his location from where his position on the bed.

A bit of his pride recovers at not having detected Alex before, for all his brashness and pot stirrer attitude Alex has a uniquely reflective mind, not quiet, not silent, but vague, like trying to listen to a shout that's carried on a wind.

You hear the words mouthed but barely a trace reaches.

Safe. Solid. Reliable. Calm.

His mind is always calm even amidst panic. Which is also why Charles cannot fathom why he has such trouble with his ability.

The soft screech of curtains being drawn dislodges him from his musings, the immediate relief of darkness against his eyelids a welcome distraction. Alex has already made his way back to Charles' side by the time he cautiously opens an eye. There's still bit of a glare, and the sudden influx of visual information overloads him for a moment, but his surroundings soon comes into perfect focus and Charles deems it safe to open the other as well, blinking furiously as he adjusted to the light.

Alex is standing above him awkwardly, looking uncertainly between the chair that Charles must have been pulled to the side of the bed (not at all comfortable looking), and the empty space of the bed close to the edge by Charles' thigh. With a stiff nod to himself he opts for the bed, settles down hesitantly so as not to jostle him, and pinks up a little when he notices Charles' amused quirk of an eyebrow.

He intends to fill the silence with something other than the sound of their breathing, it could have been a 'Who's room is this?' or a 'What happened?' but it gets lost somewhere between when he chokes on an inhale of air and the string of dry, hacking coughs that lead on from it.

A glass suddenly appears at his lips and Charles quickly clutches at it, encompassing the hand already holding it with both his own and tilts his head back eagerly, shivering as the chilled water eases down his parched throat, doesn't stop until the glass is finished, pretends not to notice the tingle of pleasure he receives at the weight of a large hand curling around the back of his neck. The glass withdraws when he's licked at every last drop and he loosens his grip around it's crystalline body, shaking his head when propositioned with a refill.

Sitting upright, the wet cloth lost to the floor, he is able to meet Alex's eyes directly as he says his thanks. Alex merely shrugs in response.

He makes no move to retire his hand from the nape of Charles' neck.

Charles' originally thought that Alex didn't know how utterly possessive that gesture truly was, an assumption proven adamantly wrong as the others light, icy blue eyes boring into him, trance-like, mouth set in a grim line as his fingers start massaging slow, languid circles where Charles' skin meets his hairline, purposefully ignoring Charles' questioning gaze.

He can feel the boy's contemplation, a slow back and forth as he tosses up 'to act' or 'not to act', the former laced with a soft tenderness, a beautiful feeling that laps at his senses, brings forth the sensation of warm sand wriggling beneath his toes, a feeling that seems resolutely unsuited to someone like Alex - while the latter is clouded with crippling doubt.

Charles spares a second to wonder what 'acting' entails (he knows, of course, he is not naive, but that is not to say he isn't in denial) before Sean's familiar shriek breaks whatever _this_ is, as he careens outside by their window.

Alex has jerked back entirely at the intrusion and Charles has to actively force himself not to shudder at how bare his neck now feels, how susceptible to the cold even though he is more than aware his temperature is still unnaturally warm.

It's awkward to say the least, Alex won't meet his eyes, taking a particular determined interest in the hard wood floors, and frankly? Charles is so out of his depth as to what is taking place, this _pull_ between them that has been picking up speed since the first moment their fingers had brushed, Charles passing him a pair of clean clothes to replace that horrid prison uniform - that Charles actually considers dipping directly into the boy's mind. Instead he clears his throat.

"So. Spectacularly, was it?" Alex seems grateful for that Charles swept off the last few minutes, his rigid form relaxing fractionally from where he's still sitting on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor.

"Yeah, Hank thinks it was probably some mild case of heat stroke or possibly exhaustion," He meets Charles' gaze, finally, eyes twinkling good naturedly (And thank god, Charles can't imagine the floor had been _that_ interesting), "But if you ask me, I think it's mainly because you managed to eat your entire plateful of Raven's eggs."

The burst of laughter is sudden even to Charles, a balloon of air that rises in the face of gravity, and Alex is _smiling_ , small and delightfully, pride set in his shoulders as though coaxing such verbal joy from between Charles' lips is some kind of magnificent effort. Blonde fringe swept to the side, eyes alight, expression beaming - he's positively handsome like that Charles thinks to himself, does his best to fight the blooming blush that accompanies the thought.

"She's my sister, what was I to do?" He asks between chuckles.

"You were supposed to _live_ ," Alex responds with a quick smirk, "I'm sure she would have unders-."

Sean's shriek is less of a shock this time around but it's hardly doing any good for his recovering headache at this point and he has to clutch at his cranium for a moment to collect his bearings. From his peripherals he sees Alex reach out towards him, halting mid way before quickly rescinding the gesture to grip around the glass still present in his other hand tightly, _too_ tightly. Charles' searching stare only gets him a shake of the head and a resolute 'don't ask' hanging over the other's head.

Charles knows what this is all leading up to, a visible thread, and curious as he is, he's not sure it's one he wants to pull.

"I guess everyone is outside then? Training?" He prompts (like he doesn't already know). Alex replies with a swift affirmation and Charles watches him closely as he asks his next question. "But you stayed here. You were," he pauses, searches for a more delicate wording, "taking care of me?"

Elbows on his knees, picking at a thread of a sleeve, Alex doesn't so much as react to Charles' words, though his focus intensifies where he's glaring at the glass in his hand, and from out of nowhere _memories_ that are not his own assault him from all sides.

 

_He's watching Hank and the professor training in the driveway from the lounge room window, fondness welling in his chest at their friendly competition (Family, Charles hears in the undercurrent, Familyfamilyfamily). The gentleness of his emotions begins to twist shamelessly into a stab of arousal as he watches Charles discard his sweatshirt to reveal the damp singlet beneath. Licking up the sweat that has accumulated on his upper lip, he attempts, only faintly, not to drool as arms are bared to his viewing pleasure, slick with sweat, a slightly jutting collarbone peeking above his shirt - more skin than he's ever seen the Professor willingly show._

_But then something's going wrong, warning bells chiming in his head. Charles is slowing down but not of what appears to be of his own volition and then suddenly he's falling, falling to the ground. Alex is opening the window and jumping out before he even realizes he's moved, his feet hit hard on the gravel but it hardly registers because he's already racing over, panic seizing every cell in his body, pushing, pushing, pushing him faster to get there sooner._

_Skidding on his knees to Hank's side who is too busy checking the Professor's pulse to acknowledge his presence, babbling nonsense Alex can't hear what with all the rushing of blood in his ears, only manages to make out 'inside' and 'bed' before he springs into action._

_He has to push away that part of him that simply wants to pick Charles up by himself, he could do it too but he know it'd be quicker if Hank helps too, so they carry him in to the manor together in a makeshift chair of their arms. They bypass Erik at the stairwell, heading towards Alex's room because a) it's close and b) on the first floor. Erik immediately follows after them, barking out demands, of explanations, which Hank gives to him stutteringly, and Alex can't even find it within himself to summon up the usual irritation he has for the man, the jealousy, because he's too busy being scared out of his own fucking mind, because he's grasping an unconscious Professor in his arms and not at all the way he'd been hopefully dreaming of for the last 2 bloody months-_

Having seen enough, he gently extricates himself from the memory being pushed at him, eases out in a blink of an eye. Charles can't explain it, the soft buzz that lingers beneath his skin, floating him high as a cozy warmth spreads; all that just because he knows that Alex had been-

"Worried," he whispers, not without a hint of a smile. "You were worried about me."

Alex is blushing, clearly embarrassed and frankly looking just this side of too endearing that Charles doesn't fight the urge to go over to him as it rises up, screaming at him to just _do_ something. He's almost on to his knees, body slightly protesting as he pushes exhausted limbs to do his bidding, is just about to begin to crawl his way over when a harsh "Don't." bites into the air, making him freeze mid movement. He feels a force collide with the middle of chest, pushing him to lie back down on the bed roughly, releasing a soft 'oof' as his head impacts with the pillow.

"Don't get up. You're still unwell." The harshness of his actions seems to surprise even Alex, expression somewhat startled as he looks down at the hand keeping Charles still and idle on the bed.

 _My bed_ , comes across as a guilty whisper, slithering into Charles; mind, heavy with awe.

The weight of Alex's splayed hand on his chest is suffocating, searing the skin beneath the thin material of his shirt with laughable ease and Charles is suddenly painfully aware that he's still only wearing that stupid singlet shirt from this morning, feeling strangely vulnerable without his usual layers with Alex kneeling over him like that.

 _Looking_ at him like that, hungry, breath labored as his eyes zero in where flesh is touching flesh, the tips of his fingers grazing the skin at the opening of Charles' shirt.

_"a slightly jutting collarbone peeking above his shirt"_

He's not sure who thinks it, who brings up that particular memory because it resounds between them as though the words were spoken aloud, and the blues of Alex's eyes become nothing but a thin ring of color around the damning black of his pupils. There is utter quiet in the room, the silence suffering in hot suspense as Alex's hand slowly glides up from his chest, pinky finger brushing a hardened nipple beneath fabric, Charles' eyes fluttering in response. His body arches slightly into the air, hips canting skywards, but Alex moves on obliviously, doesn't stop till his hand is caressing the pale flesh just under his clavicle, sparsely freckled.

Alex is looking directly into his eyes now, unblinking, fascinated, glimmering with want as Charles' own widen as he feels an index finger begin to trace the curve of his collarbone, light as a feather, leaving a path of goosebumps in the wake of it's touch, so tender and worshipping that Charles' breath hitches in a wordless gasp, body shuddering in near imperceptible shivers.

Something must mentally snap, because Charles only gets a split second to hear, _Fuck. Please don't break my mind_ before Alex is swooping down to claim his mouth in a kiss.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> ...Hope you enjoyed it?


End file.
